Pho

It's a pretty incredible substance.

We were wandering a bit in Seattle, which may be a teensy bit more asian influenced than Ohio. You know, Pacific ocean and all that. And Bob said, 'Pho! You love pho!' Pho, if you didn't know, is the national dish of Vietnam. I guess you could say that it's noodle soup. But comparing pho to, say, Campbell's soup, is a little like comparing artisinal cheese to Velveeta. So we stopped in this little dive of a place near Pioneer Square and had pho.

It came in a giant bowl, despite the fact I had ordered a small, and with it came a plate of bean sprouts, basil leaves and chilies and a wedge of lime. The bowl itself was full of beef broth and noodles and onions into which had been added meatballs and shaved slices of raw beef. The beef was sliced so thin that it had already nearly completely cooked in the hot broth. I added the bean sprouts--crisp, fat white bean sprouts that were utterly unlike the anemic floppy things so common where I live--and some basil leaves and squeezed lime juice over it.

Oh, the scent. Beefy, but light with lime and cilantro and basil.

I love Seattle.